


Don't believe the lamb, believe the wolf.

by brennivin



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Breathplay, Fantasizing, Holden is a closeted bisexual, Masturbation, Necrophilia, Other, Post-Season 2, Unsafe Sex, Whump, and a very sad and confused person, like unsafe for multiple reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 05:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21069764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brennivin/pseuds/brennivin
Summary: After the investigation in Atlanta has stagnated, resulting in disappointment for everybody, Holden faces some very difficult and confusing feelings about a subject who has caused him a lot of trouble.





	Don't believe the lamb, believe the wolf.

Things hadn’t gone according to plan in Atlanta.

Holden had done everything in his power to bring the sick pervert to justice, only to learn that only two of his crimes would be taken to court. The thought of 27 families never getting closure for what had happened to their kids tore at his insides and made him want to punch something.

There was no way he had only killed two of them. The MO had been the same for most of the other slayings. These children were connected. He even had a witness’ account of the man saying abusive things about the victims. What the hell else could he have done?

Still, it wasn’t like another helping of scotch would make him feel any better. His mind was already starting to tilt and even if tomorrow was going to be his day off, he would rather not spend the entirety of it hungover in bed.

He got out of his chair and flicked the TV off clumsily, making the familiar but suddenly laborious journey to his bedroom.

Everybody who came over always told him his place was strikingly bare. He’d never really had the time to decorate the place, though. It wasn’t as if he needed to, since he lived alone and spent most of his time working. This was just a place to eat breakfast and dinner, sleep and occasionally watch TV.

Thinking too much about his dull personal life was making him feel even lower, so he tried not to think about it anymore. Then again, the only alternative was to think about work, and thinking about work was what got him into this situation. Holden almost never drank strong liquor all by his lonesome.

He threw off his shirt, shimmied out of his pants and threw them both over the chair in the corner. He’d have time to take care of them in the morning. Stripped to his underwear and socks, he wrapped himself up in his duvet like a shroud.

Holden wanted these feelings of disappointment and shame to go away. He couldn’t believe that despite him doing everything he could, working overtime and sweating to find as much evidence as he possibly could, he still couldn’t give the families closure. Fucking politics took priority over the lives of young people, in the eyes of the local law. No matter how much he’d scrapped and scrounged for evidence, it wasn’t enough for them. They simply wouldn’t listen.

He sobbed, and tried his hardest to think about something else.

Then he remembered a letter Ed Kemper had recently sent him. Sure, his encounters with Edmund weren’t all the most comforting memories but anything was better than thinking about grieving families not getting closure because their governors had failed them.

Ed Kemper…

Ed was huge. He didn’t know if it terrified him or if it was weirdly endearing. And the things Ed had done…

He thought about how Ed had explained to him how difficult it was to cut off a head, how he’d trailed his fingers across his skin and then wrapped them gently around his Adam’s apple. He vividly felt those weirdly tender, thick fingers on his throat. His touch had been delicate so as to not scare him, but assertive enough to inform Holden of what he wanted to do to him.

Then Holden was hard.

He was harder than he’d been in a while. He was pretty sure that no woman had made him this hard since university. In fact, it was starting to feel unbearable, pressed against the confining fabric of his underpants.

He reached down to free his cock, asking himself what the fuck was up with his head to make him react this way to such a moment of silent threat.

Was it simply the way he’d touched his neck? After all, in less scary situations he had always enjoyed a gentle brush of fingers over his throat. It was sexy.

But no, this wasn’t anything like the touch of a smitten sweetheart. This was the touch of a deranged sex-killer. This man didn’t want to make gentle love to Holden. He wanted to strangle Holden to death and violate his corpse.

He gripped his erection firmly, hissing at how pent up he felt. When had he last taken the time to show himself some love? His drunken mind couldn’t recollect. He almost never had the time.

Every time he thought about Kemper’s fingers pressing against his jugular oh so lightly he felt his cock twitch in excitement. It was disgusting, really. He’d expect one of his interview subjects to get off on the idea of being so close to death, not himself. He could just blame the alcohol to save his mental stability. Yeah, he could tell himself that in a drunk haze he just so happened to think about the strangest thing when he was touching himself.

No matter what he told himself it would never be true, though. He liked the idea of letting such a man take control. Being overpowered had always been a kink of his, after all. Even when it came to women, he lived to please and loved to be dominated. Maybe this wasn’t completely different. Ed was so much bigger than him, though, that he wasn’t like those women. He could dominate Holden in completely new ways. He could break him so easily, but if Holden fully trusted him maybe he wouldn’t. The uncertainty was the best part.

_“I could kill you and do some pretty interesting things…”_

The words Ed had spoken to him that one time at the hospital echoed in his mind, hitting him in a totally different way this time. He moaned into the back of his hand, picking up the pace.

How would he do it? Maybe he would choke him to death, that huge strong hand gripping him hard and squeezing him to his breaking point. Maybe he would slice his throat, watching the blood gush from the open wound as Holden’s face contorted and twitched in beautiful pain.

Maybe he’d use him after. He let himself picture Ed hunched over his lifeless body, fucking into him with reckless abandon. He thought about him cumming inside of him, and being helpless to stop him. He imagined the humiliation that Ed so relished in his hunts, inflicted on him. Fuck, maybe he’d take his head off. Maybe he’d stick his cock in it. The thought of being taken apart like that, being totally destroyed-

Holden came harder than he had in a few years. It burst through him like some kind of epiphany. Everything fell together somehow. Ed’s threats didn’t scare him for just a few moments of bliss. For these few moments it felt like nothing could scare him. Ed didn’t scare him.

Then his eyes welled up with tears. He was no different to Ed Kemper, at least right now in this moment. The idea of such a horrific act of violence had given him sexual gratification. He wasn’t thinking about killing anybody, but he was getting off on the thought of being killed and decapitated. This was the first time he’d felt such lust for something and it involved sex with a corpse. Who was the real monster here? Who was the real deviant?

Holden sobbed into his pillow until he fell into a fitful sleep.


End file.
